


So we both get stuck (and we both get free)

by queerly_it_is



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Dating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Height Differences, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first day at his new school, and Nasir’s free from the paperwork-filled nightmare of the front office for all of ten minutes when he gets himself into a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So we both get stuck (and we both get free)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 1 of the Spartacus ReverseBang.
> 
> While the character's ages aren't directly mentioned, it's a high school AU, so Nasir's around 16 where Agron is closer to 17/18.
> 
> Thanks to all the usual people on twitter for cheering me on, and to itsathinline for the beta <3

His first day at his new school, and Nasir’s free from the paperwork-filled nightmare of the front office for all of ten minutes when he gets himself into a fight.

It starts and ends almost too fast to track. He’s walking through the hall to his locker, then he’s getting shoved by some jock asshole, stumbling with two of his books clattering onto the floor, and then he’s inevitably shoving back. He gets the wind knocked out of him when his back hits a wall, and he’s about to answer the guy’s taunt of, “Little man,” with a fist to the jaw when someone grabs him and holds him still, two other guys holding onto the shit that shoved him.

He struggles but the arm around his chest tightens, and whoever’s got him has a pretty big height and weight advantage. It all just makes him madder, feeding into the red-white clench in his head that gets him into crap like this to begin with.

“Take it easy,” the guy says, low and probably meant to be soothing, and Nasir bites back the urge to try and kick him in the shins, then, “Lugo, fuck off to class; you get caught fighting again and coach’ll bench your sorry ass.”

Asshole Jock – ‘Lugo’ apparently, but Nasir thinks his term is more accurate – laughs, and lets his buddies lead him off down the hall and out of sight.

Nasir wheels when the guy holding him finally lets go, shoves at him and spits, “Did I ask for your help?”

All it gets him is a faint smile, and he’s suddenly even more pissed – this time at himself for noticing that the guy’s hot. Just what he needs.

“No,” the guy admits, easy. “But Lugo’s shit at knowing when to back down.” The smile makes another appearance, a little wider this time. “And he’s not the only one. I mean, I’m sort of impressed, but you get that he could’ve done some major damage, right? He got suspended last year for almost breaking somebody’s nose.”

Nasir’s still trying to work out why this guy seems to care, when suddenly he sticks his hand out and says, “I’m Agron by the way,” and keeps it there with an expectant look on his face until Nasir takes it.

“Nasir,” he says, shrugging a shoulder to drag his bag back over it. “And your friend’s a dick.”

Agron grins. “Only about ninety percent of the time. Actually he probably likes you a little for trying to beat the crap out of him; he makes more of his friends that way.”

“That include you?”

The grin somehow gets brighter, and Nasir’s stomach does something stupid. He hopes he’s too dark until the half-dead florescent light for the blush to be that obvious.

“More or less,” Agron shrugs. “Mostly I just try and keep him from getting kicked out of school; he might be hard work but he’s a hell of a football player.”

Whatever Nasir was about to say gets cut off by the shrill tone of the bell. It also clubs him with the fact that he’s still holding Agron’s hand in the middle of the hallway. He drops it like it’s burned him, which is close to the truth from the heat creeping up his cheeks, the tingle at the back of his neck.

Agron ducks down and scoops his books off the floor, brushing grime off the cover of one before he stacks them and hands them over. The way he straightens is a cruel reminder of how much taller he is, and he just keeps _looking_ at Nasir like he’s expecting him to do or say something, like there’s a cultural custom at this school that Nasir doesn’t know about.

“So,” Agron says, “where you headed?” He glances at the book on top of the stack in Nasir’s hands. “English?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nasir says, feeling like he’s playing catch up, or having a different conversation entirely.

Agron nods. “It’s that way.” He nods down the hall to Nasir’s right. “I’m heading that way too if you don’t mind the company.”

He blinks, snorts and decides that Agron’s either messing with him or just weird in general. “Sure,” he says, and Agron smiles with dimples creasing his cheeks.

“Then follow me, little man,” he says, bowing at the waist and gesturing. He laughs when Nasir prods him hard in the chest with the stack of books. “Too soon?”

“Well who’s gonna hold me back this time,” Nasir says considering, looking around at the empty hallway. He’s surprised at his own smile, at the flip in his chest, the way he feels like he’s about to take off sprinting or something.

“Fair enough,” Agron says, and if he’s shortening his stride to keep pace with Nasir then it’s hard to tell. He smirks. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that temper anyway.”

Nasir shakes his head and speeds up when he can tell Agron’s not expecting it.

At the door to the class Agron turns on a heel. “Well good luck,” he says. “And don’t sit too near the front you don’t want to get called on; if you’re more than four rows back then old Mrs Lawrence basically can’t see you.”

“Oh is that how you get through class?” Nasir says. “I’m surprised it’s that easy to hide when you’re such a beanpole.”

Agron puts a hand on his chest, makes a ridiculous mock-wounded face and slumps into the wall. “You try and make the new guy feel welcome,” he says, shaking his head at the ceiling.

Nasir just barely avoids verbalising the, ‘ _Is that all you were doing?_ ’ that sits heavy in the back of his throat. The fight felt like less trouble.

“Well then I’d better go in,” he says. “Before I make you cry and ruin your image.”

Agron grins, snorts a laugh. “So considerate,” he says. He claps Nasir on the shoulder, all heavy palm and long fingers jolting Nasir’s arm and yeah, so much trouble. “See you ‘round, lit—” He smiles crooked, a dimple popping on one side. “Nasir.”

He strolls off and vanishes around a corner, and Nasir takes a couple of slow breaths before he ducks into the classroom and finds a seat – in the next to last row. He scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand but the last trace of a smile won’t come off.

| |

That’s just the beginning.

Between finding his way around, getting used to classes, and making friends, there are too many moments when Nasir’s sure some gods or other are making fun of him.

He runs into Agron everywhere. On his way between classes Agron smiles or waves or calls out to him across the hall or from huddles of his friends. He sees him heading to practice and jogging up the steps from his car in the mornings. Even at lunch he somehow winds up standing next to Agron in the line, suddenly finding him there smiling down when he realises who’s bumped into him.

“You should come and sit with us,” he says, nodding at his table.

Nasir tries not to let the surprise show. Or the nerves at the fact that he’s just a freshman who knows all of two people, or the flush at the way Agron’s leaning into him in the middle of the lunchroom.

“C’mon,” Agron says when they reach the end, and Nasir follows him over, trying to work out what’s happened to his life.

He gets introduced to the people at the table, most of them on Agron’s team, their captain who everyone calls Spartacus even though he leans over and says, “That’s not my name,” with a kind of resigned look as Agron laughs and claps him on the shoulder. Gannicus and Saxa, Crixus and his girlfriend Naevia, who he’d met earlier in the week in class and who doesn't look at all surprised to se him there. More than a few of them give Agron a look Nasir can’t place when he introduces Nasir to them. They’re a fun group, once Nasir works out that they all taunt and mock each other with every other sentence and knock each other about the rest of the time. Agron stays turned towards him, either explaining some in joke or talking just to him.

When lunch ends and they all have to head off to class again, Nasir’s in twice as much trouble when it comes to Agron as he was before, and it’s not a surprise at all.

| |

Agron finds him after last period on a Friday, a few weeks into the semester. He’s waving bye to Naevia and heading down the steps when Agron’s hand taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, bright and dimpled as ever. Nasir hates him just a little. “There’s a party tomorrow night if you want to come?”

“A party?” he repeats, because Agron’s two solid miles of golden skin and stubble and Nasir left his brain somewhere in econ.

“Well,” Agron shrugs, “people, booze, music, a house with no parents.” He comes down a couple of steps, putting him below Nasir at ground level but still a head taller, and close enough Nasir can smell the soap on him where he’s just come from showering after practice, can see the way his hair’s a little damp. “You should come,” he says. “Drink, dance, uh, meet people, whatever.”

Nasir swallows, feeling hot, twitchy in his skin.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice won’t work right the way nothing works right when he’s got Agron in his space and his body’s trying to burn itself up from the inside. “You—Yeah, sounds good.”

Agron grins and it’s like a searchlight to the eyes. “Great,” he nods, pulling a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handing it over. “Here’s the address, but I know you don’t drive, so I thought… If you want, I could…” he shrugs again, snorts at either himself or the combined weight of their mutual uselessness.

Nasir can’t quite hide the hesitation, the stillness that locks him up at the image of Agron coming to get him and having to deal with the people who run his latest group home, or one of the other kids whose names Nasir hasn’t bothered learning. But Agron’s expression is slowly folding in on itself, and how is he so bad at hiding this stuff? Nobody is this uncalloused.

“Sure,” he says, trying for light and missing hugely. “Yeah, I—Swing by around nine?” He’s trying to remember what the curfew rule is, but the guy he sees most often is either an overbearing shit or a complete flake, so it’s not exactly the same deal as the strict Christian place he couldn’t get out of fast enough the last time, even if the way they thought separating kids by gender would stop them messing around was pretty funny.

“You sure?” Agron asks, looking like he doesn’t want to. “You don’t have to, it was just a—”

“Yeah,” Nasir says, coughs like a reprimand to his vocal chords, scuffs his foot along the step. He smiles as he holds up the paper. “That sure I’d say yes?”

“Well,” Agron shrugs, “who says no to free booze, right?” he jokes, mouth tipped up at one corner. “And Crixus might even smile if he drinks enough, you don’t want to miss that, it’s like a lunar eclipse.”

He snorts. “I’m sold,” he says, shoving the paper into his pocket when his eyes won’t stop following the shape of Agron’s handwriting, thumb on the crease where Agron had folded it over or at the crumpled corners where he’s apparently been carrying it around. It’s just a piece of paper, shit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Agron says, in a voice like he’s just realised how long they’ve been standing there, that the parking lot below them is slowly emptying out.

Nasir spends the entire way home with his hand in the pocket of his hoodie, turning a meaningless bit of paper between his fingers.

| |

It takes too much effort not to pick at his clothes when Saturday night inevitably presses between his shoulders, nerves plucking strings in his gut. Since he doesn’t even own that many clothes it’s doubly ridiculous, and by the time two of the other kids have asked him who his date’s with and if he’s getting laid Nasir’s ready to skin somebody.

He pulls on a decent pair of jeans and a tight-ish black tee, reminds himself that it’s a high school party where the sole purpose is to get wasted and that he needs to calm the fuck down. He thinks about taking his camera, but he doesn’t want to risk getting drunk and losing it or breaking it, it took him forever to scrounge money for it as is.

Agron’s car’s pulling up in the street when Nasir bolts down the stairs, takes a deliberate breath and shuts the door behind him before anyone else can ask him questions.

Of course Agron looks hot, and of course he smells amazing when Nasir drops into the passenger’s seat, and of course he grins like it’s his mission to make Nasir’s life hell.

The party’s already hit a good pace when they get arrive at the house, lights on and wavering across the drapes in every window and the muffled thump of music in the cool air when Nasir climbs out of the car.

Considering he’d been in an enclosed space that smelled like Agron, with Agron driving next to him, long legs folded just barely into the footwell and strong hands sliding over the wheel, Nasir thinks he’s holding up okay; he’s only _half_ -hard.

He takes a few long pulls of air and follows Agron up the drive and then the steps. Agron pushes the door open without knocking, and everything’s suddenly the drum of music and the erratic mix of voices and laughter.

People shout out Agron’s name when he passes, high five him or slap him on the back. Someone hands him a drink that he turns and gives to Nasir’s before grabbing another one out of a cooler for himself.

Nasir gets a little lost in the frantic rush of it all, the blurring pass of people moving through the house and the way Agron presses close to talk into his ear, telling him who’s who.

They dance, loose and badly in a room where all the furniture’s been pushed against the walls, a big tangle of sweating bodies in the space at the centre. Agron’s a tall skew of limbs next to him or behind him or against him, smile splitting his face. Nasir falls into the mindless sway of his hips and the beat in his head, arms out and hands brushing casually over Agron’s sides or the rise of his ribs under the tight shirt he’s sweating through. He sees couples sealed tight together with practically no air between them, everyone in the room alternating pale or glowing with the spinning party light sitting on top of a nearby speaker. Agron’s face gets washed over in green and red and blue, features sharp and then soft over and over, mesmerising in the fuzzy heat that’s stuffing Nasir’s head.

At some point he loses track of Agron and gets into a drinking contest with Lugo and Crixus, eventually staggers away laughing with no idea who won, missing a step half from the beer and half from the heavy clap of Lugo’s hand onto his shoulder.

He grabs food from the spread in the kitchen, eats it while he laughs with Chadara about something he can’t hold in his head but that leaves him leaning on the counter and grinning anyway.

“I’m surprised Agron let you out of his sight,” she says, pouring tequila into a plastic cup and aiming a teasing look at him.

“He’s not my shadow,” Nasir says, snorting.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you just don’t see the way he looks at you.” She nudges him. “You should do something about that; he’s one of the less shit-for-brains guys at school.”

“High praise.”

She laughs. “Plus he’s hot, football player and all. The only single one left too if Spartacus ever mans up and tells Mira he _likes her_ likes her.”

Nasir heads back into the party when Chadara gets drawn into dancing with a guy Nasir doesn’t know, someone from the wrestling team maybe. He’s passing the open doors that lead into the backyard, a few people gathered around smoking and drinking and lounging in patio chairs, when there’s shouting – angry, heated shouting not drunken shouting or any other kind that’s part of the general voice of the party – and Agron walks over behind Spartacus and Gannicus, the two of them dragging another guy – Ashur, he thinks his name is. There’s blood on Ashur’s face, running from his nose and down his chin, and his eye’s already blackening. He struggles and Gannicus twists his arm behind his back and shoves him harder.

Agron stops next to Nasir with his arms crossed, shakes his head. “Dick,” he scoffs as the others head down the hall.

“What was that about?”

Agron snorts, shakes his head. “Dumb fuck hit on Naevia. Let’s just say he was less than polite about it.”

Nasir watches them manhandle Ashur out the door, light catching the blood on his mouth before he’s gone. “Crixus do that to him?” He wouldn’t be surprised; he’s pretty sure Crixus would fight his way through an army for her. And _then_ she’d make the army sorry that he had to.

Agron laughs a little. “If Crixus had gotten to him first they’d be taking him outside in a bucket. No, that was Mira. Naevia got in a really nice uppercut too though.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s hope that drums the lesson into him.”

Agron scoffs. “I think Ashur’s immune to learning anything.” He focuses on Nasir and smiles. “But you seem to have gotten on Lugo’s good side.”

“Arm wrestling,” Nasir says with a smile, shrugging the ache out of his shoulder at the reminder. “And a lot of watery beer.”

The dim light glints off the whites of Agron’s teeth as he grins. “See? I told you; he likes people that stoop to his level.”

Nasir steps a little closer, narrows his eyes. “That better not have been a short joke.” He puts a hand on Agron’s chest, and Agron lets himself fall back against the wall. “I thought _you’d_ learned by now.”

“My mistake,” Agron drawls, leaning into Nasir’s space, still smiling. “Completely innocent, I promise.”

His pulse picks up, blood singing through his veins and everything a little warmer for all the beer in him. He watches Agron’s eyes dip to his mouth, feels the swell of muscles through Agron’s shirt where his hand’s planted just above Agron’s sternum. If the music wasn’t pounding through the floor he thinks he’d feel Agron’s heart leaping between his fingers.

“Hey,” Agron starts, “You want to—”

Nasir stumbles as someone knocks into his back, laughter washing out whatever else Agron would’ve said. Barca turns in an unsteady spiral and apologises around a laugh with Pietros clinging to his back, arms over Barca’s shoulders. They head for the stairs and clamber up them, still laughing drunk and sloppy, Pietros’ hand tracing up the wall until they disappear.

“Just hope they don’t end up on the bathroom floor,” Agron mutters. “Again.” He ducks his head towards the living room. “C’mon.”

They flop down onto a vacant couch, the music a little quieter and his head resting on what could be the back or could be a pile of coats. The floor revolves slowly under his feet and the world tilts sideways when Agron drops down next to him.

“Hi,” he says blinking, and then laughs, which makes Nasir laugh even if he doesn’t know why it’s funny or why that should matter to begin with.

He says, “Hi,” back, head falling to the side as he looks over at Agron. “Having fun?”

“Yep,” Agron nods, dragging out the vowel and popping the last letter like a bubble between his lips. “How ‘bout you…” he smirks, “little man?”

Nasir snorts, overbalances when he tries to shove Agron in the shoulder. He ends up sprawled across the cushion with a leg tucked behind him and an arm propping him up on Agron’s arm, fingers on the shape of his bicep.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, without any real irritation, pushing at Agron and only managing to rock them both from side to side.

Agron’s smile is sloppy, and that’s probably beer or something stronger making his mouth look shiny, wet. Nasir wants to—he just _wants_.

The space between them shrinks, only the dividing line between the cushions separating the angled weights of their shoulders where they’ve turned towards each other. Agron’s hand drops from the back of the couch to Nasir’s neck, fingers in his hair, light pressure on his skin, and it’s impossible to think, to speak, or to stop his hand from dropping onto Agron’s thigh.

Nasir’s breath stalls in his chest while the music covers the shaky huff of it out through his nose. Agron’s fingers brush across the side of his neck to his jaw and he shivers, swallowing hard. The faint light in the room makes Agron’s eyes look black, picks out the stubble on his cheeks.

He lets the press of Agron’s thumb at the hinge of his jaw angle his head, licks his lips when Agron does, contagious like a yawn and skin prickling hot like a fever.

His blood’s thudding in his ears, and when the kiss finally comes it’s somehow still a surprise, still digs into a soft-hidden place that wouldn’t let him expect it even while it made him hope for it.

Agron’s mouth is beer-sour and both of them are on the sloppy side of barely-sober, but there’s stubble rubbing at the edges of Nasir’s mouth and Agron’s burning tongue parting his lips, and all he can do is moan and open up for it.

It drags out into choppy breaths that scatter between them, into the sharp tug of Agron’s teeth on his lower lip, of the way he cups Nasir’s face and keeps him close. He gets snatches of the music that he isn’t paying attention to, reminders of where they are when a yell or a laugh or the sound of feet moves past them, but they could be in the middle of a crowd and Nasir wouldn’t notice, could be under a spotlight and it wouldn’t touch him.

Agron’s thumb moves back and forth over his neck, a scratch of blunt nail right over the flicker of his pulse, and the shudder goes from his shoulders to his hips, throbs in his dick, and Agron hums into his mouth.

“Like that?” he murmurs, question smudged into the buzzing corner of Nasir’s lips. He presses harder with the tips of his fingers, spans them wide and rubs down Nasir’s throat, and it’s a whimper this time that falls out of Nasir’s mouth and against the nearest bit of Agron’s skin he can reach.

His hand curves up the inside of Agron’s thigh, his own cock a heavy weight swelling against his jeans, hips hitching up into nothing.

Agron groans and leans his forehead on Nasir’s, lashes fluttering and eyes half-lidded, focused on the bruised curve of Nasir’s lips as he licks his own.

“Been waiting to do that,” Agron murmurs before he kisses Nasir again, a badly-angled seal of their mouths that spikes heat in Nasir’s belly, curls his toes inside his socks.

His fingers reach the swell of Agron’s dick, hot through the layers of his clothes, and Agron gasps against his lips, hot and wet when Nasir’s palm fits to the ridge of his cock and presses, rubs up to the head where he hopes Agron’s already wet.

“Fuck,” he hisses when Agron’s hips roll up into his hand, juddering twitches while Nasir swallows with a noisy click. “We could—Upstairs, if you—” He groans, a punched-out noise when Nasir pushes fingers into the curve of the tip of his dick. “Only if you want.”

Nasir laughs like it’s been scraped off the bottom of his lungs. “What do you think,” he murmurs into the flush on Agron’s cheek, grabs his hand and puts it in a mirror of his own hand on Agron. He shudders when Agron grips the shape of him, stinging friction when his clothes rub across his length.

They more or less fall off the couch into something like a standing position, Nasir using Agron’s outstretched arm to pull himself upright and then the rest of him to lean against. Agron cups his cheek and tilts him into another kiss, slow and wet, and when their hips rock together Nasir hisses with Agron’s lip between his teeth.

Mira gives them a knowing smile as they pass her in the hall, and the stairs go on forever, both of them nearly tripping and clenching fingers in each other’s clothes until they collapse onto a bed behind a closed door, the sounds of the party sitting below the roar of blood in Nasir’s ears or the thump of his heart behind his ribs, his staccato breathing when Agron knits their fingers and grinds down onto him.

Agron kisses up his neck to the dip behind his ear, across his jaw to his chin and up to his mouth. His hips roll down into Nasir’s and there’s the _shuff_ their clothes scraping together, the moan Nasir lets out against Agron’s mouth when heat spills up his spine and yanks him into the contact.

“Take this off,” he says, plucking at Agron’s shirt with a couple of shaky fingers, and Agron’s smile flashes in the dim room when he kneels up, legs bracketing Nasir’s and arms crossing as he pulls his shirt up and off. He’s all gorgeous muscle and smooth skin, the occasional paintbrush stroke of a scar and the darker buds of his nipples, and Nasir’s hands can’t stay still.

He strokes from Agron’s hips to the ridged arch of his ribs, down the flat of his belly, fingers pushing against coarse hair that disappears below his waistband. He sits up and lets his hands rove to Agron’s back, kisses the dip below his sternum and the shape of the muscles standing out across his stomach, making Agron shiver with light nail scrapes down his sides to his ass.

“You too,” Agron murmurs, thumbing at the collar of Nasir’s tee, fingers smoothing over his neck now he knows how much stronger that makes Nasir’s trembling, how it tugs hot in his gut and makes him blurt precome into his shorts.

Nasir pulls his shirt over his head from behind one-handed, fingers going right back to Agron’s skin, the shapes of his hipbones. He unbuttons Agron’s jeans, trying to watch his face through the dimness of the room. He can see him bite his lip, hear the ragged puff of his breathing, and when Nasir shoves his clothes down enough to free his cock he groans and almost collapses forwards.

There’s too much he wants to do, warring impulse and want and need bottled under his skin and twisting like a coil in his belly. Agron’s dick is hard and flushed, curving up towards his belly and shining damp at the tip, the hang of his balls over the edge of his briefs and all of it framed by the messy, tugged-open V of his jeans. It’s the most obscenely gorgeous thing Nasir’s ever seen and nothing he can think of feels like enough.

Agron moves and bends awkwardly to pull Nasir’s jeans down his hips to mid-thigh, cock slapping hard and loud against his belly over the rough moan Nasir can’t stop. It’s more than just knowing he’s about to get off like this, even more than the way Agron lifts him to pull at his clothes and handles him like he weight nothing. It’s the whole impossible reality of it all stacked up, the fact that it’s _happening_ and not just in his head while he jerks off in his room or the shower thinking about Agron’s hands, his mouth, the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders.

He leans his weight onto his elbows when Agron folds down again, kneeling across Nasir’s hips with his hands on either side of Nasir’s head, sheltering him more than trapping him.

“Like this,” Agron breathes against the curve of Nasir’s jaw, pushes up on a hand above Nasir’s head, arm straining as he spits into his other hand and wraps it around the both of them.

Nasir hisses, arches up, feels the wet-hot slide of his cock against Agron’s the slip of Agron’s fingers and the shaky way he moves his hips, fucks into the clench he’s made.

“Yeah,” he gasps, hand on the swell of Agron’s ass and the muscle of his hip, over his shoulders and down the bulk of his thighs, everywhere he can reach, mapping every curve and line. “Shit, yeah.”

His breath feels like steam rising out of the back of his throat, Agron’s mouth on his collarbones and the hollow between them, his fingers squeezing and stroking the both of them, slick sounds of spit and precome hooking into the air.

“So good,” Agron says, washed out on a breath into Nasir’s neck. “Fuck, you’re—I knew you’d be like this, fucking gorgeous all spread out.”

Nasir moans, high and broken, trying to shove into the grip of Agron’s hand, feeling the quake in his own hips and the restless brush of his thighs against the insides of Agron’s.

“Gonna come?” Agron whispers somewhere against his cheek, his jaw. “Get it all over me?”

It hits like a punch to the stomach, grabs him by the chest and hauls him into a sloppy curve as he crunches a groan between his teeth and spills, shoots, pulse after pulse onto Agron’s fingers and his palm, down onto his own belly. The slide of them together goes filthy-slick, turns even hotter, and Agron’s still murmuring his name when his voice unspools on a low cry and he streaks Nasir’s stomach, his chest, strings of it on his dick and mixing together.

Nasir’s eyes won’t open and his lungs won’t fill, none of his muscles doing what he wants while he rides the high of his orgasm into white noise that blares inside his head. Agron swipes at his hand and Nasir’s belly with his own shirt, slumps down half onto Nasir’s chest and leaves uncoordinated kisses that itch with stubble on his shoulder, his chest, his neck.

By the time his breathing’s evened out they’ve both dropped into drunk-sated blackness, wrapped up in each other.

| |

It’s just a couple of hours later when they stumble downstairs. The party’s mostly over, a few people still standing and drinking or eating while most everyone else is collapsed on furniture or in piles or on the nearest free bit of floor. The air outside is a cool shock, wakes him up as he pulls it through his nose and lets it tumble out through his lips.

Nasir’s more or less put himself back together, but Agron’s still shirtless, his come-covered shirt tucked into the back pocket of his low-slung jeans. He looks wrecked, a bruise on his chest that Nasir doesn’t remember leaving and his lips all swollen, hair stuck up everywhere. Nasir might feel a little proud of himself, and it’s not like his neck isn’t buzzing with his pulse in more than one place where Agron’s left hickeys of his own.

The drive is quiet but not awkward. Agron keeps giving Nasir smiling looks and Nasir’s playing with Agron’s hand on the gearshift. He’s pleasantly loose from his shoulders to his feet, fragments of leftover smiles clinging to the edges of his mouth.

When they arrive Agron kills the engine and they both take each other in, tired and mussed and feeling good about it.

“So, I—” he starts, and gives up when Agron’s mouth touches his. Neither of them are exactly minty fresh, but Nasir licks over the seam of Agron’s lips anyway, presses closer when Agron cups his cheek and strokes a thumb under his eye.

“If I said I was glad you came…” Agron starts, laughing when Nasir butts their foreheads together.

“I’d say your sense of humour needs serious work,” Nasir says, grinning when Agron does. There’s an energetic buzz under his skin that’s nothing like the heavier drowsy one from the beer he’s had tonight.

“You’d better stick around then,” Agron murmurs, soft lips nudging at the corner of Nasir’s mouth. “Help me improve.”

Nasir hums into a kiss, leans towards the warmth of Agron’s bare chest under his hands. “Well,” he says, “I’ve always liked doing charity work.”

Agron’s laugh rumbles out across his tongue, gets stuck in the grip of his teeth on Nasir’s lower lip.

He hands over his phone when Agron asks, lets him program his number into it, then does the same with Agron’s. Getting out into the air this time leaves a tight shiver under Nasir’s skin, and he stands in the doorway to the house for a while after the sound of Agron’s car fades away into night noise and the insect buzz of streetlamps, the mumble of a TV from the next house over.

He folds down onto his bed and into sleep almost before he’s completely horizontal. The last thing he remembers thinking is that the sheets are too cold.

| |

If Nasir was expecting school to be awkward on Monday, then it really isn’t.

He doesn’t see Agron until halfway through the day, when he’s heading for lunch after art class. A shout of his name catches up with him in the hall, and he turns to see Agron jogging over, twisting through the crowd.

Nasir’s stomach flips slightly, but he smiles at Agron anyway. “Hi.”

Agron’s grinning before his feet have come to a stop. “Hi,” he echoes, and leans down and kisses Nasir gently, pulls back enough to raise his eyebrows into an obvious _Is this okay?_

Nasir smiles, faint surprise slipping into a possessive kind of warmth that wishes Agron had kissed him deeper, more than once, that he’d let the people milling around in the hall see it.

They walk to lunch together, Agron’s hand on Nasir’s back, talking about class or the way Gannicus is obviously still hungover judging from the way he’s slumped at the lunch table with his head on Saxa’s shoulder.

“So you have that art assignment to do, right?” Agron asks, both of them in line with trays. “And that test coming up?”

Nasir snorts, fond. Agron’s better at keeping track of his stuff than he is himself. “Yeah. I’m okay with everything except chemistry, though.”

“You want to come over and study some day after school? You’re way better with English than I am and I’ve got this huge essay I haven’t even started. I could use someone to quiz me, make sure I’m not missing anything.”

He looks up at Agron, trying to gauge if it’s actually studying he’s asking for. He flashes from trying to do his homework in his shared room or in the library like he usually does, to being in Agron’s house, Agron’s room, both of them pressed together from arm to hip and taking breaks to make out.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, getting jostled by the motion of the line. “Yeah that’d be good.”

Agron smiles, nods, and grips Nasir’s shoulder, eyes watching Nasir’s face as his thumb rubs just below his shirt collar and a tight shiver runs down his spine, gooseflesh spilling down his arms. Bastard.

They sit pressed together at the table, and Nasir thinks he does a decent job at keeping up with the conversation when Agron’s hand finds his thigh, foot resting on Nasir’s under the table. Maybe he’s building up an immunity from always having Agron so close, looking at him the way he does and smelling like everything Nasir wants to breathe in and hold inside his lungs, fill his chest up with.

Agron’s still tracing patterns up Nasir’s leg with the tips of his fingers when the bell rings.

| |

He goes to Agron’s house on Wednesday, waits for him outside and lets Agron nudge him back against the side of his car and kiss him, feels him smile and the huff of a laugh through his nose when someone wolf-whistles. He’s flushed from football practice and when he tips Nasir’s head up to him with a hand on his cheek, water drops onto Nasir’s skin.

Agron hums, leans his forehead on Nasir’s temple, other hand gripping at Nasir’s hip like Nasir’s holding him up. “You’re a hazard,” he says, bites at Nasir’s lip when he smiles.

“Turnabout,” he mutters against Agron’s mouth, pushes him back with a teasing smile on his face. “Studying,” he says, just to watch Agron’s expression go rueful, maybe a little disbelieving. It’s a power trip, having Agron want him this much, feeling like he’d do what Nasir told him to.

Agron taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the stereo, and when they pull up outside his house he leans over and licks into Nasir’s mouth, hand running from the side of his throat to his nape, pulling a sound out of Nasir’s chest.

“Studying,” Agron says, Nasir panting into the soft-wet space between their lips, dick pushing into his zipper. He groans and knocks his forehead against Agron’s, shoves him on the shoulder as he turns and forces himself out of the car.

Agron grabs drinks and hands Nasir snacks to carry upstairs, shoulders the door to his room open and says, “Just dump your stuff anywhere.”

Nasir lets his bag drop to the carpet, eyes flicking from detail to detail; the posters on the walls, the sports magazines sticking out from piles of paperbacks with wrinkled covers; the desk with none of its surface visible under paper and school stuff, pots of pens and pencils, a football propped against the back of the chair.

They spread out on the floor, Nasir sitting cross-legged with Agron lying on his stomach, legs crossed at his ankles. He thinks they’re getting stuff done, but it’s a little hard to tell with the glances they throw back and forth and the way Agron’s hand lingers on Nasir’s knee, his side, slips under his shirt when he reaches for something, how Nasir’s hand strokes down the inside of Agron’s arm while he chews a pen or adds to the plan for his art project; he’s just glad he can use photographs since he can’t draw for shit, and he never gets the chance to use his camera for anything but his hobby-fixation-whatever.

Agron leans over to grab chips and kisses Nasir on his way back to laying down. Nasir toys with the hem of Agron’s shirt when Agron rolls onto his hip and props a textbook in front of him, thumbing at the cut of muscle arrowing down from his side. He’s half-hard and his breathing’s all over the place, and it’s simultaneously mind-bendingly frustrating and fun as hell, heat in his cheeks and foot tapping a nonsense rhythm against the carpet.

A knock on the door snaps them out of it a few hours in, and a guy Nasir’s seen before around school but never spoken to sticks his head in.

“Hey,” he says, quirks an eyebrow at Agron. “C’mon bro, introductions.”

Agron sighs and rolls his eyes. “Nasir, this is my sad fuck of a brother, Duro.”

“Ouch,” Duro says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “And here I am trying to do you a favour; Mom’s friend totally bailed on her so she’s hosting that party thing here tonight. I’d get the fuck clear unless you and your boyfriend want to be interrogated by the Stepford squad.”

Agron groans, looks over at Nasir. “You wanna get out of here.”

Nasir shrugs. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.” He pretends he doesn’t see Duro waggling his eyebrows as his head vanishes back around the doorframe.

“C’mon,” Agron says, pulling him up when Nasir holds out a hand. He kisses Nasir quick and close-lipped, like he can’t stop himself. “I’ve got an idea.”

| |

They end up at a twenty-four hour diner a few blocks away, books and notes spread across the table in a booth with empty coffee cups and plates like islands between the rough stacks, the scattered pens and highlighters.

Nasir pushes himself through study aids he found online and printed in the library, quizzes Agron when he asks and makes about a dozen flashcards for a bio test he’s doing a shit job pretending not to be stressed about.

Somehow when he looks up, pausing to stretch his arms above his head and crack his neck, it’s a little after midnight. His hand’s cramping and his head’s been filled with wet clay, and it takes a second for him to notice he’s written a third of a page with a pen that’s nearly completely out of ink.

Agron looks up – or jolts awake, it’s hard to tell – when Nasir groans and drops the pen on the table and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Break time?” Agron asks, quirking an eyebrow across the booth when Nasir blinks wide and tries to make everything focus again. There’s a smudge of green highlighter on Agron’s chin where he’s been tapping it there absently, and blue ink on the skin between his thumb and forefinger. Nasir wants to reach over and wipe the marks away, wants to slump into Agron’s side and breathe him in.

“Definitely,” he says, slumping back in his chair, for his own safety as much as out of tiredness.

Argon snorts. “Thank god.” He pushes the notes away and sticks a pen in his textbook to keep his place before he shuts it. “I need caffeine. You want?”

Nasir nods, hands his mug over with a grateful smile.

He’s trying to keep his stuff from getting too mixed up with Agron’s when a fresh cup appears under his nose, and he’d groan at the frankly erotically perfect smell if he wasn’t focused on Agron’s hand on his shoulder, the way his thumb’s circling on Nasir’s neck above the collar of his shirt, the heat of him standing so close.

“Hey,” Agron says, coaxing, nodding away from the table when Nasir looks up at him. “Stand up for a second.”

“Why?”

“Just stand up.” He takes a step away, and when Nasir rolls his eyes like it’s such a labour and gets out of the booth, Agron reaches out and takes one of Nasir’s hands in his.

There’s a crackle from the speakers wired into the ceiling, and then there’s some slow melody filling the diner, nothing Nasir recognises, but Agron steps close again and just like that, as if it’s nothing, they go from standing to slow-dancing and Nasir goes from overtired to smiling as he shakes his head and feels his face heating up.

“How did you pull this off?” he asks, tucking himself into Agron’s chest.

Agron hums, slips his hand over Nasir’s hip and up to his side. “Magicians never reveal their tricks,” he says haughtily, smiling soft.

Nasir snorts, nudges a leg between Agron’s and generally lets him lead, relaxing into the long line of Agron’s body. “So you bribed whoever’s got control of the speakers.”

“Stop trying to peek behind the curtain,” Agron says, splaying his fingers over the base of Nasir’s spine. “It ruins the mystery. And who says this hypothetical person didn’t just think we’re cute?”

He shakes his head, but keeps stepping along to the music, Agron’s hands guiding them in a slow turn. It’s hardly dancing, more just swaying in a slow arc a few feet from the table, but Agron’s hands are seeping warmth through Nasir’s shirt and his tiredness is fading to a relaxed looseness that’s working through his muscles, into his head.

The night sits in a cold and purple-black sheet, making the world past the windows invisible, and Agron’s face moves across the lights that buzz above them, shadow dipping into a dimple when he smiles.

They keep moving, molasses slow, and Nasir’s breathing slows, head emptied out of everything but the casual lift-swing-down motion of his feet and the feel of Agron under his fingers, music still unnamed but drifting into his ears and over his skin.

Minutes turn liquid and slip past without touching them. It’s the kind of relaxed he’s used to feeling when he first wakes up, before he really switches on, or as if he’s been lying in the sun for hours like a cat. He’s in the moment, in Agron’s arms, and nowhere else, and he’s not surprised at all that it’s as effortlessly peaceful as it is.

With his head tipped forward onto Agron’s chest, Nasir thinks he can feel Agron’s heartbeat. Or maybe it’s his own, maybe it’s both and they’ve stepped into the same synchronised slow patter along with their feet. He hopes so. Agron’s chin rests on his head just above his hairline, both arms around him now, legs pressing, moving apart, and pressing again.

He can’t hear the music anymore. They keep dancing anyway.

Agron cranes down enough to kiss his forehead, down to the bridge of his nose when Nasir tips his face up, then his mouth even though the angle has to hurt his neck a little with them pushed so close together. The kiss leads into another, and another, and at some point they stop moving, combined momentum winding down. Then they’re standing in the middle of the floor wrapped up in each other, not kissing but sharing air just the same, one breath passing back and forth.

“We uh, we should probably study more,” Agron eventually murmurs, sounding as reluctant as Nasir feels.

He kisses Agron again. “Probably.”

Agron returns the kiss, humming into Nasir’s mouth.

It still a few more poorly-defined and uncounted minutes before they move.

| |

Nasir’s in second period when his phone buzzes against his leg, Agron’s name on the screen when he slips it into his hand as the teacher turns his back.

_A- BABY!!! :DDD_

He grins presses his other hand to the corner of his lips to hide it. He startles when his phone buzzes again.

_Can you get out? Meet me in the hall?_

His eyes flick to the door, down at the half-solved equation on his notepad. He raises his hand.

Agron basically ambushes him once he’s through the door, pulling him to the side and pressing him back to the wall, mouth covering Nasir’s hot and open, breathing into him as he licks over Nasir’s tongue.

He arches into it, hand scrabbling into the folds of Agron’s jacket and pulling him tight against him.

“You got me an A,” Agron murmurs into the corner of Nasir’s mouth.

Nasir almost wants to say that he just remembers a few short quizzes and some minor suggestions between all the kissing and generally putting their hands all over each other, but Agron’s nipping at his jaw so he gives up.

“You’re such a cliché,” he says when Agron drags him a little way down the hall by the hand and nudges him into what turns out to be a supply closet. He smiles into another kiss, laughing into Agron’s mouth when Agron pinches at his side, rucks his shirt up with his other hand brushing Nasir’s hair away from his face.

“You love it,” Agron murmurs, and all Nasir can do is groan around Agron’s tongue, let out another, shakier noise when Agron’s hand moves down to his ass and squeezes, pulls him close, their hips slotting together. A tremor runs down his spine when he feels the heated line of Agron’s dick against his own, the strength of Agron’s fingers through his shirt.

“Here?” he mutters, sort of answering his own question by the way he’s raking nails down Agron’s back.

Agron keeps rocking them together. “Want to make you come,” he groans, and Nasir’s head tips back into the wall while Agron’s lips press down his neck, over his Adam’s apple. He’s iron hard and probably smearing slick into his jeans, feels himself twitch when Agron folds down onto his knees.

“You— _Fuck_ ,” he hisses when Agron tugs his pants open and his shorts out of the way. He blinks and tried to focus on Agron’s face in the dimness, the way he bites his lip when he thumbs over the head of Nasir’s dick.

The wet heat of Agron’s mouth makes him shove the meat of his palm between his teeth to muffle the noises, hips clenching and whole body going tight when Agron cups his balls and pushes his lips down, sucks at him with a slide of tongue under the head.

His fingers go into Agron’s hair, an absent thought about the way Agron’s gonna look when they stumble out of here hitting him like a whip crack, hair everywhere and mouth flushed, swollen, eyes dark and clothes pulled all off-centre.

It’s over embarrassingly fast, but when two of Agron’s fingers press behind his balls and between his cheeks a whimper snaps in his throat and he tugs Agron’s hair like a warning, dick swelling on the plush flat of Agron’s tongue before he’s greying out and pulsing, jerking, hips snapping back against the wall so he doesn’t choke Agron by accident, Agron’s fingers rubbing circles around his hole while the aftershocks jar him to pieces.

Agron stands up and presses against him, Nasir’s hand probably showing dents from his teeth pulling Agron down into a kiss that’s sour-salty and filthy.

“I— _Shit_ ,” he breathes, air falling into the pit of his lungs with a clatter in his chest. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Wanted to,” Agron mutters against his mouth, and god, his _voice_.

Nasir moans, still loose and shuddery when Agron tucks him back into his clothes, runs his hands up under Nasir’s shirt to stroke down his sides and over his back, big hands with long fingers spanned out across his skin.

The sound he makes when he gets a hand to Agron’s crotch and finds his dick half-soft and wet, blood-hot and obviously spent is like a keen. The picture of Agron jerking off on his knees with his other hand teasing Nasir’s ass and Nasir’s cock in his mouth… he almost gets hard again just thinking about it.

“You’d better go out first,” Agron says, and Nasir can hear the smile even if he can’t see it.

Again Nasir gets that possessive flash of _let them see us, let them know I do this to you_ , but it’s probably not worth getting suspended over. Probably.

He’s pulling his shirt back into some sort of order when Agron steps out, and he looks every bit as wrecked as Nasir imagined him, even though he’s obviously tried to smooth his hair down and straighten out his clothes. Nasir watches him stoop over a drinking fountain, and when he steps close and Kisses Nasir again his mouth’s a shock of cold, lips wet and skidding over Nasir’s.

“Come over tonight,” Agron says. “Any time. We’ll… I dunno, we’ll do something.” His eyes dip to Nasir’s mouth and Nasir can feel heat pooling in his gut again.

“Okay,” he says, seals it with a kiss.

He watches Agron lope off down the hall, and once he gets back to class he spends the rest of the hour trying not to make ridiculous faces or stare off into space. He never does finish that equation though.

| |

 “So how do you feel about dinner?”

Nasir quirks an eyebrow and turns to where Agron’s standing next to his locker. “As a general concept, or…?”

“I mean with me,” Agron says. “And by dinner I mean pizza.”

“D’you usually speak in code or is this a new problem for you?”

Agron snorts and leans against the way, arm propping him up, and it’s unfair that he can look that tall, that effortlessly strong when he’s that slumped over. His shirt’s pulled tight across one hip, riding up across his taut stomach, showing skin above the waist of his jeans. Nasir swallows and shuts his locker harder than he means to.

“Okay,” he says, lightness bubbling in his chest, even if he doesn’t know if this counts as their first date or if they’ve been sort of dating all along. “Pizza.”

Agron grins. “Meet me here after last period, I’ll drive us to a place in town.” He brushes a kiss across Nasir’s mouth just as the bell rings, and Nasir thinks that’s probably for the best; they can’t spend every class huddled in supply closets.

So they grab a table in an Italian restaurant with deep red walls and lots of old wooden furniture, high ceilings and mostly people in twos arranged at tables, a few families with young kids here and there. The whole place smells amazing, and they split a large pizza between them, feet tucked together between their chairs.

Nasir’s not sure what he expected an actual date to feel like, but he’s glad it’s pretty much as easy as being with Agron anywhere else, that contagiously casual way he talks about anything and everything kicking in right from the start.

Agron talks about his brother, about his parent’s divorce, about how hard he tries at football in the hope that he’ll get some kind of scholarship and his mom won’t have to find a way to pay for him to go to college. He lets slip that he likes art, and that he draws in his free time, then looks embarrassed as hell when Nasir asks him about it.

He doesn’t prod Nasir to talk about anything in particular, lets him stop or start without feeling like Agron’s waiting for something in particular. Nasir’s never been good at talking about himself, knows he doesn’t fit into the general mould or plan that gives most people’s lives the same overall shape. But he sees the way Agron’s eyes light up or focus on him when he talks, and he tries to ease up on the grip he keeps on things, talks about foster care and the different schools, about the brother he barely remembers and wouldn’t know how to find if he wanted to. He talks about the fights and being shuffled between homes like a jigsaw piece with no matching edges. Argon asks him about the camera and he smiles, explains the photo he’s had forever of a family that doesn’t exist anymore, his name scrawled on the back with three others and the smiling faces of strangers who are also his parents. He smiles a little talking about the camera he got from a kid about to age out who didn’t want it anymore, and the one he saved to buy on his own, about the shoebox stuffed full of photographs he’s taken, how his life felt more real if it was there in bent paper corners and the sheen of chemical-printed colour.

It’s a weird feeling, sharp and dull at once, finding scraps of his life to upend across the table for Agron to see and pick through with the fingers he’s resting on their table. To let someone see him. He feels older than he is and somehow more like just another high school kid than he can ever remember feeling. Like he can be Nasir and still be just anyone else.

Agron’s foot rubs against the side of his ankle. His thumb follows the ridge of a tendon the small bones of Nasir’s wrist, hand wrapping around and fingers on his pulse, and Nasir feels like he can breathe.

| |

They skip class on a rainy Thursday and go to the movies, grabbing two seats at the back of a double feature, something about gladiators that Nasir tunes out the moment Agron’s fingers play over the back of his hand, stroking across the veins and tendons, thumb tucking under and against the soft middle of Nasir’s palm, resting on his life line.

He swallows around his thudding heart, alternates unseeing glances at the screen in front of them with ones at the flicker of shadows across Agron’s jaw, the catch of light in his eyes.

There’s no one else in the place except for a couple down near the front who’re already busy making out and passing a flask between them, and Nasir looks at Agron again and lets himself give in, sliding out of his seat and crouching between Agron’s legs.

Agron makes a low sound that’s covered by movie noise, and Nasir pushes his hands up Agron’s thighs while Agron shifts lower in the seat, knees bracketing Nasir’s shoulders and his strong thighs in a V.

He smirks up at Agron, watches the heavy roll of his throat when Nasir wets his lips. Agron’s cock is hard under his palm when he rubs it over his jeans, and the muscles of his stomach twitch when Nasir’s fingers push under his shirt to get to his jean buttons open.

Nasir’s hunched over Agron’s lap, breathing like the air’s suddenly thin and laving his tongue across his mouth. He shifts his knees on the floor and pulls Agron’s pants open until his dick springs free, smears a wet blotch onto his shirt, a string of precome catching the light and more at the tip.

He brushes his lips over the head, feels Agron shudder when he breathes against the burning skin, his leaking slit. He lets his mouth part soft and wet around the blunt weight, pushes down as it slides against his palate, back up as he exhales and traces patterns with his tongue.

Fingers wrapped around the base of Agron’s cock, Nasir bobs his head until his mouth meets his fingers, breathes out shakily when Agron touches his cheeks, the hollow around the swell of his dick. Agron’s fingers push into his hair, tracing the shape of his scalp and down to his neck, thumb following the convulsing click of a swallow. When Nasir pushes down too far too fast, Agron’s fingertips swipe at the corners of his eyes, wiping away reflexive tears.

He can tell Agron’s trying his hardest to stay quiet, little ground-down moans and huffing breaths. His hips are twitching up, pushing the thick heat of his cock over Nasir’s tongue, through his spit-wet fingers. He jerks Agron off from the base up to the sucking O of his mouth, twisting his wrist on the way back down.

Somehow in the dark of the theatre it’s hotter, no world outside the smell of Agron in his nostrils or the salt-sweet taste on his tongue. His own breathing’s deafening, hissing under the roar of blood and the bellow of his pulse, wet sounds playing over the movie running ignored behind him.

Agron taps fingers at his neck, thighs shaking and feet shifting on the floor, butting into Nasir’s knees. Nasir sucks harder and pulls up until Agron rests heavy on his tongue, lashes brushing over his cheeks as he swallows around twitching pulses that spill into his throat.

He laps up Agron’s length, hand pushing up underneath his shirt, palm over his heart. Agron’s head has fallen back when he looks up, lips parted around his breathing and his flush obvious in silver flickers of the screen.

Before Nasir can move or slip Agron back inside his clothes, Agron urges him up by the shoulders, pulls at him until Nasir’s balanced awkwardly in his lap and kisses him hard, fucks into his mouth with the length of his tongue.

He goes to shove a hand down Nasir’s pants, but Nasir hums against his mouth and shakes his head. “Later,” he murmurs, nipping Agron’s lower lip. He guides Agron’s hand to the curve of his ass. “I want your fingers while you suck me.”

A low noise knocks against his teeth from Agron’s throat, and when Nasir drops back into his own chair Agron lifts his chin into a slow kiss.

They’re slipping out and heading for Agron’s place before the movie’s even close to over.

| |

They’re milling around in the kitchen on a Saturday morning, Nasir prodding at some eggs in a pan with Agron standing behind him, arms around Nasir’s middle and lips at the back of his neck, fingers stroking his hair to the side, when Duro stumbles in.

“Ugh,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Can’t you keep it in your pants until after breakfast? I miss my appetite sometimes, bro.”

Agron snorts and steps away enough to shove Duro by the shoulder. “At least we made it upstairs instead of, oh, the kitchen island? I couldn’t eat in here for a month after that. And you still owe me for not telling mom why it so suddenly needed bleach-cleaning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Duro grumbles, ducking the lazy-harmless swing Agron aims at his head and pulling Pop-Tarts from a cabinet. He winks at Nasir. “Just don’t do anything I’d do; your boy here’s too short for the kitchen island anyway.”

“But your desk is just the right height,” Nasir says with a toothy smile, and Duro’s still grimacing and holding up his hands in surrender when he heads out through the door. He takes the mug Agron holds out to him. “I am never eating at that island again.”

Agron smiles around his own mug. “I’ll blow you against his door later if you want; it’s nothing he wouldn’t deserve.”

He hums into his coffee, says, “Deal,” around a swallow, pulling the pan off the stove.

They take plates into the living room and collapse onto the couch, Nasir tucking his feet under Agron’s thighs, the hand Agron isn’t using to support his food resting on Nasir’s shin.

“Anything you want to do today?” Agron asks him, fork tapping on his plate.

Nasir shrugs. “Besides fooling around in Duro’s room you mean?”

Agron laughs, startle-loud, and his hand grips knee before he rubs it down over his shin again, palm crinkling through the wiry hairs. “Okay,” he snorts. “After that?”

“There’s homework I should probably at least try to start,” Nasir says with a grimace, hand playing with Agron’s on his leg. “But I guess I could be persuaded to procrastinate for a while.”

Agron smiles. “Movie night? Popcorn?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Honestly I’ll take any chance I can get to make out and get my hands on you.”

Nasir scoffs around his grin. “I see,” he says, drawn-out and teasing while he bends forward and put his empty plate on the floor. “You ask me what I want to do just to suggest what _you_ want.” He tuts, trying to keep the corners of his mouth level. “I don’t know how I missed that you’re so very one-dimensional.”

Agron looks over at him for a second, two, before he cracks up, stretches out an arm to put his own plate onto the table and then tackles Nasir ‘till they’re both flat on the couch, Agron bent a little awkwardly where his body’s too long.

He pushes hair away from Nasir’s face. “I’m deeply hurt,” he says, widening his eyes like a puppy for effect. “Really, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Nasir says mocking, voice warping around the shape of a laugh. “You know, you can just say so if you want to touch me that badly. I mean—” He arches up, chest brushing Agron’s and their hips slotting together, one leg nudging between Agron’s thighs. “—I understand the urge.”

Agron’s laugh huffs against Nasir’s cheek when he kisses the corner of his mouth, the bow of his lower lip, fits his mouth over the soft parting of Nasir’s. “You want me to say it?” he murmurs, hands sliding down Nasir’s sides. “Okay. I want to touch you.” His fingers trail tickling lines under Nasir’s shirt, his mouth sliding brand-hot down Nasir’s neck. “I want to kiss you.” His teeth find the racket of Nasir’s pulse at the base of his throat. “I want to put my arms around you, just like I want to make you laugh or take you out.” He spans his fingers out against the skin of Nasir’s chest, running them between his ribs and toying with his nipples. His mouth traces a path back up to the soft underside of Nasir’s jaw, then his chin. “Just like I want to be the one who gets to make you come.” He licks into Nasir’s mouth, hot and wet and dirty as hell, solid weight of his hips shoving down into Nasir’s, pinning him and grinding them both deeper into the couch.

Nasir helps Agron pull his shirt over his head, lets Agron tug his arms out to pull his over his head as well. Nasir’s wearing a pair of Agron’s sweatpants rolled up at the waist, and Agron slips them down his thighs, pushes his own down past his knees.

They’re a tangle of limbs and sharp-desperate movements, Agron’s mouth peppering everywhere on Nasir’s face, his neck as they both arch, groaning at the slide and push of their dicks together. Nasir’s fucking up into the jut of muscle above Agron’s hip, Agron slowly working himself down against the crease of Nasir’s thigh, both of them smudging precome on each other’s skin, panting across the narrow space between them.

Agron’s making hot, low noises into the crook of Nasir’s neck where it meets his shoulder, Nasir’s hand on his ass urging him down harder, faster. The blunt-wet head of his dick slides just barely into the cleft of Nasir’s ass, and when Nasir comes it pulls the air out of his chest and makes his fingers tighten in Agron’s hair at the back of his head. Agron follows him over a few shaky, breathless thrusts later, and Nasir moans when the hot patter of come lashes across his belly, hits his oversensitive cock.

They lie there in a heap swapping lazy kisses and murmuring things too low and fragile to make it past their little island in the middle of the room.

Nasir watches his fingers trace out the shape of Agron’s face through half-lidded eyes, down the tendons at his neck and over his shoulders, around his bicep and the soft inside of his elbow, the push and bend of hairs on his forearm between the soft raises of veins narrowing down to his wrist. By the time he knits his fingers into the spaces between Agron’s his breathing’s deep and slow and his heart feels less like it’s trying to escape.

They actually do watch a movie. Eventually.

| |

Nasir goes to see one of Agron’s games, watches from the stands next to Naevia and cheers and nearly yells himself hoarse.

It’s a side of Agron he doesn’t see much, the side that shoves and pushes and uses all the obvious strength he’s got with actual force, slamming himself into players even larger than he is and still not going down. Nasir would be lying if he said it wasn’t hot, seeing the way Agron moves, the fierce, pleased look on his face when they score.

He’s surprised how he enjoys the adrenaline high, the wash and flow of energy from the people around him, the collision of people on the field. Agron looking that capable and powerful definitely isn't a downside either.

When the clock runs down to nothing and Agron and the others are raising their arms up and pounding each other on the back and huddling in small groups on the field, Nasir and Naevia raise their joined hands up into the air and cheer so loud they almost outmatch the crowd in the stands around them.

Agron pulls his helmet off and gestures at him even as Naevia’s already pulling him down towards the field, virtue of long practice helping her dodge around the chanting and jumping spectators until they’re on the grass. Agron’s face is split by his grin and shining with sweat, and he puts an arm around Nasir when Naevia nudges him forward and goes to meet Crixus.

He ducks down and brushes a kiss over Nasir’s mouth. “We won,” he murmurs, cocky and pleased and grinning when he noses over Nasir’s cheek.

“I saw,” he says, hand brushing over pads and the damp stretch of Agron’s shirt below his neck. “Consider me impressed.”

“You want to come over?” Agron asks, smiling down at him, voice carrying low with people still cheering and laughing all around them. “Help me celebrate?”

Nasir smirks, raises his eyebrows a little. “You don’t have plans with the team?”

Agron kisses him again, smell of his skin and the exerted heat of him like a brush over Nasir’s skin.

“I’d rather have plans with you,” he says, simple, honest and Nasir can feel the smile curl across his mouth.

“Then you’d better shower quickly,” he says, stepping close enough that his hand dipping between Agron’s legs won’t be noticed. “Be a shame if you didn’t get to celebrate properly.”

Agron stumbles twice as he tries to catch up with the others heading for the locker room, and Naevia gives Nasir a bright-eyed look, returns his smile.

He knows he jogs off the field; he’s just not sure his feet touch the ground.

| |

Nasir heads home first, grabs a shower and changes his shirt, pulls on a jacket of Agron’s that might not actually _be_ Agron’s anymore considering how long he’s had it.

He gets a text as he’s shoving his feet back into his shoes:

_Outside :)_

He snorts at the smiley face, takes the last three steps at once and goes out to meet Agron’s car.

“Hey,” Agron says as Nasir drops into the seat next to him, showing a flash of a grin before he leans across and kisses Nasir. He thumbs over Nasir’s cheek. “Jacket looks good on you.”

He smiles into the next kiss, relaxes into his seat to watch Agron start the car and drive, the slide of his hands on the wheel and the shift of light across his face.

There’s a low simmer of want in his belly, making him press his feet down harder into the car’s floor and grip his fingers against the tops of his thighs.

They get maybe three steps inside the house before Agron pulls him in, turns him and pushes him back against the door, fitting their mouths together, tilting Nasir’s head up to mouth along his neck.

“Gorgeous,” Agron murmurs into his throat, leans up enough to cup Nasir’s face with both hands, Nasir’s on his side and the back of his neck. “You can have anything,” he says, and Nasir knows he means it. “Anything you want.”

He pulls Agron down, fingers pushing above his hairline, and kisses him hard enough to bruise. Agron’s eyes are dark when he Nasir blinks up into them, his lips red and wet, hint of tongue between.

Nasir rubs a thumb across the prickle of Agron’s jaw. “Take me upstairs.”

Agron walks them backwards into his room, kissing Nasir’s jaw, his cheek. Nasir steps in time with Agron and flashes back to that night in the diner, Agron’s eyes on his and music breaking between them in a hushed wave.

He pulls Agron’s shirt off and throws it aside, lets Agron nudge them back against the edge of the bed, turns in Agron’s arms as he lifts his shirt over his head. He leans back against Agron’s chest, drops his head onto Agron’s shoulder to bare his throat for Agron’s mouth.

Agron’s hands rove down his chest, span across his stomach and dip under his waistband, pulling at the buttons of his pants. He shivers when Agron’s breath scatters hot down between his shoulders, skin tingling in the wake of Agron’s hands sliding down his body as he kneels.

Nasir’s pants form a puddle that he steps out of, underwear following them, and Agron’s hands feel huge as he kneels behind and cups the swell of Nasir’s ass, long fingers dipping into his cleft and spreading him to the air until a shudder chases up his spine.

He turns again when Agron stands and urges him by the shoulder, tugs at Agron’s zipper along with him and feels a raw noise catch in his throat when he sees nothing but bare skin and coarse hair under Agron’s jeans.

They press tight together, both hard and standing close enough to Agron’s bed that it’s nothing to topple them both onto it , to let Agron roll up into a curve of skin and muscle over him, knees either side of Nasir’s shins and his hands braced by Nasir’s head.

He knows enough by now to easily find the lube in the bedside drawer, stretching to grab at it, the foil crinkle of a condom between his fingers. He smiles a little, pleased at the unconscious tug of Agron’s lip between his teeth, the flush on his cheeks that spreads halfway down his chest.

Nasir lets himself spread out, bare and unselfconscious with Agron’s eyes raking down him. He raises his eyebrows like a challenge, and Agron groans as he takes the lube and kisses down Nasir’s chest.

Agron’s mouth is burning hot when it meets a nipple, tongue tracing over it before he moves to the dip beneath Nasir’s ribs, the hair above his navel, teeth nipping at the skin of his belly around where his dick’s resting hard and already a little wet at the tip. Nasir makes a sharp hiss when Agron’s tongue runs up the underside, presses to a point over the head and slides back down in a slick, flat glide that makes Nasir’s hands pull at the sheets and his cock twitch up towards the heat of Agron’s mouth.

He doesn’t even notice the click of the lube being uncapped when Agron sucks him half into his throat, big wide shoulders spreading Nasir’s thighs for him to lie between, length of his legs probably half off the bed. He sees the dark flash of Agron’s eyes locked to his face, tips his head up and groans between his teeth at the picture they make, Agron’s skin lighter next to his own and his flush more obvious, mouth stretched around Nasir’s dick and the swell of his own ass shifting as he grinds into the bed.

Nasir’s head drops back to the sheets when Agron sucks _hard_ at the same time the slippery length of his finger runs around Nasir’s hole. He grits out a, “ _Yes_ ,” in one long, dragged-out sibilant when Agron’s finger works into him to the second knuckle, crooks and twists inside him, lube turning cool as it slips down his skin toward the bed.

Agron’s still sucking him, all searing wet and the motion of his tongue following veins and digging at his slit. His finger works in and out until a second wriggles into him, stretching him as he arches and tries not to fuck too deep into Agron’s throat.

He’s lost count of the number of times he’s thought about this, the number of times he’s jerked off or fingered himself thinking about Agron working him open, getting him ready to be fucked. He’s letting out all these hoarse, breathy noises that only seem to make the sounds of Agron’s lips around him louder, the huff of air through his nose or the even more obscene sounds of Agron’s slick fingers moving into him over and over.

The burn and stretch of a third finger is what makes him come. He whines, stuck in a loop between working his hips down onto Agron’s hand or his dick up into his mouth. Agron spreads his fingers, turning them and rubbing hard along his prostate, and Nasir chokes on a scream as he comes on Agron’s tongue, clenching hard around his fingers.

When he gets some sense of himself again Agron’s leant up over him, mouth filthily swollen and shining wet. The kiss is sloppy and mostly taken up by Nasir trying to control his breathing, but he can feel Agron’s cock rubbing hard against his hip, the cool air between his legs where he’s open and slick.

“I’m ready,” he says, more or less against Agron’s mouth.

“You’re sure?” Agron murmurs, stroking fingers down Nasir’s neck to the jut of a collarbone, eyes molten and so earnest where they’re locked to Nasir’s face that something cracks in Nasir’s chest.

He arches up, leaves a sloppy kiss on Agron’s mouth. “Sure enough that if you don’t fuck me I’m going to find someone who will.”

Agron makes a low noise, nips at his lip with his teeth. “Don’t even joke,” he mutters before he’s kneeling up, lifting Nasir’s legs over the tops of his thighs and pushing closer.

The blunt pressure of Agron’s dick stretching him open almost makes him squeeze his eyes shut, but Nasir keeps looking at Agron’s face, at the slack fall of his mouth or the grip of his fingers on Nasir’s thigh, the tremor in his stomach muscles and the roll of his throat. Nasir’s chest is locked up, and when Agron bottoms out inside him he falls back to the bed, Agron following him down.

“Breathe, babe,” Agron hushes into his ear, and a breath digs down into his airway, tumbles back out of his mouth, skin tingling everywhere and heat in his legs where Agron’s got him spread wide open, sensation streaking up his spine faster than he can track.

“I’m okay,” he manages, thick and heavy around a swallow. “You can, _god_ , you can move.”

Agron kisses him, gentle and sweet at the corner of his mouth, on his cheek, below the flutter of his lashes. He’s this warm weight settled everywhere, arms bracketing Nasir’s head and chests brushing together, all of it funnelling to the hot-hard weight that _feels_ more than anything Nasir can remember.

He whines when Agron’s slides out slowly, groans when he pushes back in, hips meeting in a roll of Agron’s body that leaves Nasir’s neck arching back.

“I’ve got you,” he feels Agron press to the line of his throat, one hand fitting to his jaw, thumb at the point of his Adam’s apple. “I’ve got you.”

Nasir still wants to shut his eyes, not for the same reason now; he wants to let his mouth fall open, soundless and gasping every time Agron’s dick presses into him, keeps him open from the stretch of his hole to the spot that makes him leak over his belly. But he keeps them open, watches Agron watching him, expression broken open and eyes even warmer than the rest of him.

His hands follow the shape of muscles in Agron’s back, fingers mapping tremors and dips in his spine when he slides against Nasir underneath him. He pulls Agron closer, keeps him moving in tight circles of his hips and the solid strength of his chest pressing Nasir into the bed. There’s no points of contact he wants to give up; there’s no place they’re touching that feels like enough.

It takes him over, blanks out everything around him like there’s shadow draped everywhere except the bed and the circle of light behind Agron’s body, strokes of gold and shining sweat on his shoulders, his neck. He squeezes Agron’s upper arms and pants against his mouth, soft-wet lips and breath puffing across his skin. Sounds slip out of his throat when Agron sinks deep into him, or pulls back until the shape of the head tugs at his hole. Agron smears kisses and words Nasir can’t hear into his temple, the strain of his neck, his palm when Nasir cups his face like he has to hold him there at all.

There’s friction running up his spine where his dick’s trapped between them, hard again and messily stringing precome to Agron’s belly, but it’s dim and faded next to the slick shove of Agron’s cock in him or the shivers when Agron scratches nails across his neck. He’s shaking but only knows it from the tremble of his fingers, everywhere else damped down under Agron’s body. The air in his lungs isn’t enough and he can’t find any more, losing whatever he pulls in to desperate moans or hisses when Agron’s hips meet his and _push_ like there’s more of him to take.

Nasir crooks his legs until their hooked over the backs of Agron’s thighs, pulls Agron’s head down by the back of his neck to press their foreheads together, and he knows he’s going to come but he can’t piece the words together, is sure he’s going to fall apart but can’t find the need to express it, just shudders harder and arches up and lets Agron swallow down the nonsense sound he makes.

The deep-hard thrust that locks his spine and tips him over rubs hard against his prostate, slap of skin when Agron’s hips meet his ass, and the high choked sob he wants to make gets broken between their lips, smudges in their breathing and the brush of Agron’s tongue.

He goes tense all over as he comes on his chest, Agron’s belly, feels it get smeared between them as he twitches and his chest shakes with his ruined breathing. He’s clenching and gripping down around Agron’s cock, eyes rolling into his head and toes curling in the sheets, nails maybe drawing blood from Agron’s skin.

Agron’s thrusts turn sharp and uneven, more helpless juddering and grinding down into Nasir’s body than actual coordinated movement, and his eyes go wide as he comes, pupils eating at the colour and skipping sightless over Nasir’s face, breath coming out in jagged points and serrated pieces that catch on Nasir’s mouth. He groans with the faint twitch of Agron’s dick in him, imagines them doing this without the condom, feeling come trickling down his thighs or trapped up inside him, thinks Agron would probably pull him open with his thumbs just to look, would lean down and lick it out of him or finger it back in.

It’s a few long uncounted minutes before either of them have enough strength to move, a few loose-limbed touches and kisses passing between them. Eventually Agron staggers out of bed to grab a washcloth and dispose of the condom, Nasir stretching out on the bed again and cataloguing all the sore places of his body that leave him with a faint trace of a smile.

One they’re cleaned up Agron presses close behind him, arms around Nasir’s middle and chin hooked over his shoulder, Nasir’s hands moving back and forth across Agron’s forearms, tracing patterns on his skin.

He’s not really sleeping, just drifting on the endorphin high and the worn out heaviness in his limbs, when Agron nudges him a little. He’s holding a piece of paper, sitting up in the bed with a book in his lap that Nasir knows is for his art even if Agron’s never told him or shown him beyond the odd casual reference.

“Here,” Agron says, and Nasir takes the page, fingers gentle with the understanding that he’s being given something important, and then suddenly he’s looking at himself – his own face shaped in layers of graphite and delicate finger smudges.

Agron says, “I keep meaning to give that to you,” while Nasir’s still stunned into stillness, a buildup of heat and something light, glowing behind his ribs. “Just… took me a while to work up the guts.”

Nasir’s eyes drink in all the little details; the attention that’s obvious in the lines of his hair, the shape of his mouth, the details of his eyes. He notices the start of the design on his shirt, the way it’s bunched, tugged away from his neck. He tilts the paper so the light shines onto it, and –

“Is this—”

“You on your first day,” Agron says, answering him before he even finishes. “The day we met.” He snorts. “The day you tried to take on Lugo.”

“I would’ve won if you hadn’t stopped me,” Nasir says, smirking and prodding his knee into Agron’s thigh when Agron laughs.

Agron’s hand brushes up his back, fingers combing through Nasir’s hair to the nape of his neck. He leans down and plants a kiss on Nasir’s head.

“I wanted you then,” he says, mouth still close enough for Nasir to feel his breath. “You were so—I don’t know. The brightest thing I’d ever seen. Like you woke me up. I got shit from the guys for over a week because I stayed behind to talk to you; Crixus told me I was being pathetic.”

Nasir smiles, looking down at the sketch again. He recognises the expression he’s wearing, the upward tilt of his head and the set of his jaw. Agron’s drawn him literally the first time Nasir looked at him, stubborn, high on adrenaline and already crushing. The date scrawled in the corner is for that day too, and there’s a leap in Nasir’s chest when he imagines Agron doing this then, sitting in this room at his desk or with the pad balanced on his knees on the bed. That he spent all of ten minutes around Nasir and felt him worthy of this.

“It’s perfect,” Nasir says, looking up again. He kisses Agron slowly, parts his lips and breathes into him, like the glow bottled up in his chest will pour between them, carry all the things he doesn’t know how to say, that there probably aren’t big enough words to contain anyway.

Agron’s fingers map the line of his jaw, down to his chin, tilt him up into a deeper kiss. They pull apart and Agron’s nose brushes down the side of Nasir’s, tip-to-tip with the warm look in Agron’s eyes blurred by how close they are.

“Yeah,” Agron murmurs, cupping Nasir’s cheek. “Yeah it is.”

| |

Between one thing and another, Nasir feels like Christmas sort of sneaks up on him.

He’s been so drawn into everything with Agron, with his friends and with the catch up he’s still going through with the change in schools.

Usually he wouldn’t care that much; Christmas tends to be either drab and depressing or so plastically earnest it turns creepy, and there’s never been any point in thinking about something like shopping, but now he actually _wants_ to. He wants to put his name on something he can give to Agron, and to Naevia, and maybe others too if he can manage it without having to shoplift.

He’s going through a new pack of printed photos and swapping a fresh roll of film into his camera when the idea hits him, a spark of excitement in his belly that makes him grin.

It takes him over a week to get everything together, and he has to take over chores and promise favours to half the kids in the home to get extra cash or things he needs, but once it’s done it just feels _right_ , a warm sort of pride and accomplishment that shores him up.

Since Agron’s going to be with his family for days over the holiday, Nasir decides waiting is pointless.

They’re in Agron’s room, half-abandoned evidence of studying strewn along the carpet.

“I, uh,” he starts, reaching into his pack. “I wanted to give you this. For—Well, for a lot things, but for Christmas too.”

Agron’s eyes flick from his face to his hands a few times, before he reaches out and takes the book from Nasir.

It’s small, with a simple cover, but each page is carefully filled with pictures Nasir’s taken over the last few months, his handwriting laid out between them; names or dates or the story behind the photo, why he took it in the first place.

Nasir watches Agron’s face as he turns the pages, smile going from soft to blinding, creasing into his cheeks and the skin at the corners of his eyes. He pauses at the pictures of him and Duro, either shoving at each other or bent together laughing, one or the other rolling his eyes; at the ones of their group gathered at the lunch table, Agron laughing with Spartacus or mock-wrestling with Lugo.

When he reaches the last three or four pages Agron’s eyes go back to Nasir’s face again, mouth turning soft at the edges. It’s the pictures of the two of them, mostly taken by Naevia, one or two by Chadara, even one at the very end by Gannicus.

They’re smiling in almost all of them, kissing in a couple more, but Nasir’s favourite by a long mile is the one Gannicus sneakily took when Nasir lost track of his camera. He hadn’t even known it was there until he’d had the film developed. It shows them huddled together on one of the bleachers, orange flash of the sun low in one corner, and Agron looking down at Nasir like… like he’s something precious. Like he’s everything.

“I almost didn’t put that one in,” he admits, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It felt too—” he sighs, not sure how to explain the feeling he’d gotten from looking at that picture. “It felt like it should’ve been just us – that moment, I mean. Not the camera or the people we were with.” He’s actually grateful to Gannicus for it, but he hadn’t expected to see so much showing so easily in his own face, the set of his mouth or his hand on Agron’s on their shared seat.

Agron’s throat works, he blinks, and a corner of his lips turns upward. “I’m glad you kept it,” he says, voice a little thready. “There should—You should have proof.” He gives Nasir a look that presses on the same gossamer-fragile place that looking at the photo does. “You should never have to wonder.”

Nasir reaches out, covers Agron’s hand on the book and kneels over to kiss him, because he can’t not, can’t even imagine not.

Agron sighs, glances down at their hands and then back at Nasir’s face, something about his expression stopping the air in Nasir’s chest.

“I feel like you should know,” he says, swallowing hard enough Nasir can hear it. “I—I want to make sure you know, that I feel—” he snorts and it sounds choked, he blinks and his eyes are bright, but he’s smiling. “I love you,” he says, voice gone thick, and Nasir feels like he’s on fire, that he can’t possibly be as still as his body is. “You just—You make everything better, you know? Me. _I’m_ better because you’re here.”

And that’s it isn’t it? That’s really it. He was okay before Agron, in his bubble of a life where he never let his feet touch solid ground, skimming the surface of everything because what was the point in getting in involved in it? And now the bubble’s gone, and he wouldn’t get back in it if he could, because it’s a prison, a collar, a window out of a lonely room.

Now his feet are on the ground.

Agron’s smile has gone watery at the edges and his fingers are squeezing in the spaces between Nasir’s, and there are a million and one things trying to fall out of Nasir’s mouth. But the words crumble into clumsy, random letters on his tongue, so he picks up his hand and Agron’s along with it, and presses his lips to the swell of Agron’s knuckles, the back of his palm, and he can hear the shaky exhale Agron lets out when he puts their joined hands on his cheek.

“You should know too,” he says, blinking against the itch behind his eyes. “I didn’t—I thought it was all going to be the same; I’d be here and try and fit in, and then we’d move again and I’d be—” He swallows, mouth picking up into a smile when Agron brushes their hands down his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you, and now I—” He makes a sound, some blend of a laugh and a sob and a sigh. “Now nothing’s the same, and… and you’re right. It’s better.”

Agron grins, so wide it takes over his face, and he leans in to nudge their foreheads together, pressure and warmth and the air full of the smell of him that settles in Nasir’s bones, and when they kiss he realises they’re both smiling, maybe both crying, with both their hands still joined between them.

A kiss that either of them could have started leads to Agron skimming nails down Nasir’s neck, leads to Agron’s fingers wrapped up in Nasir’s with them rocking together, leads to Agron looking up at him with Nasir’s cock stretching out the shape of his lips, cheeks hollowed as he pins Nasir to the ground by his hips. Nasir comes with a cry, pulsing to the back of Agron’s throat, and he almost gets hard again when Agron pushes his dick into the space between his thighs and grinds against him, fat head slipping against his hole and catching over and over until he comes, streaks Nasir’s balls and inner thighs, mouth sealed over Nasir’s and tongue flicking at his teeth, swallowing the sounds they make as they both groan.

After they get their breath back and finally make it up onto the bed, Nasir lets his body go lax and loose under Agron’s, reaches up to knock his knuckles gently against Agron’s cheek, swipe them down to his jaw.

“Do you have to be anywhere today?” he asks, crooking one leg at the knee to feel it brush up the side of Agron’s thigh.

Agron shakes his head, ducks down to kiss Nasir’s palm where it’s still touching along his face. “Nowhere,” he says. He nuzzles his cheek into Nasir’s hand. “Why, do you?”

Nasir stretches catlike under the long, warm weight of Agron’s chest, the space between his legs. He smiles when Agron adjusts to blanket him, motions easy and almost automatic. He pulls Agron down into a lazy kiss, tilts his forehead to Agron’s temple.

“No,” he breathes, simple, honest. _Happy_. “Nowhere else to be.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Iron and Wine's 'Low Light Buddy of Mine'


End file.
